


Coping

by Descaladumidera



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Flower Crowns, Fluff, M/M, Stephen Strange is a good boyfriend, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, a light one, and the good things, anxiety attack, mostly - Freeform, this is focused on fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:34:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descaladumidera/pseuds/Descaladumidera
Summary: It’s funny, Tony thinks, how the whole world can go back to normal just after a few months. Just like this. It’s like nothing has happened at all. But he can see the little changes, the indication that something major has shaken their world.





	Coping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thevillains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevillains/gifts).



> For the IronStrange Gift Exchange, organised by [@ironstrangehaven](https://ironstrangehaven.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I got such lovely prompts that let me run rampant and this happened! :)

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s funny, Tony thinks, how the whole world can go back to normal just after a few months. Just like this. It’s like nothing has happened at all. But he can see the little changes, the indication that something major has shaken their world.

He can see it in the way Rogers and Barnes never leave each other’s side for too long, can see it in the haunted look of Natasha’s eyes, in the way Barton and Lang spend as much time with their families as they can. He can see it in the way Bruce behaves, like he wants to run and never come back, can see it in the way Thor is gone, searching for his people, for any survivors (and failing, but Tony doesn’t dare to think it). He can see it in the way Rhodey and Carol are sticking together and a small, unwelcome voice is whispering in his head that there is no place for him in his best friend’s life anymore. He can hear it every night when Peter cries out loud, phantom pain and nightmares killing his childhood and Tony feels so guilty. He can see it in the haunted lines of Stephen’s face, can hear it in his whispered apologies and in the words that haunt him every waking hour. “There was no other way.”

Tony can see it in his own trembling hands. They haven’t been steady even once since he used the gauntlet to finish off Thanos and he hates it. Hates it, hates it, hates it.

But there is nothing he can do. He can only cope, can only endure the change and the memories (and the nightmares, oh god, the nightmares). And he copes the only way he knows how to—he tinkers. He tinkers and works and doesn’t sleep. He locks himself away in his workshop and upgrades everyone’s equipment and doesn’t come out until the sun rises, not even knowing when it had set.

And his hands are still shaking, dropping his tools, making it impossible for him to draw schematics, every line wobbly and inaccurate. Getting in tiny screws or adjusting delicate wiring requires the help of DUM-E and Tony hates it even more in those moments, hates that he can’t fix it, can’t fix himself. That’s when he wants to scream and cry and curse the world, because he is just human and life hasn’t been fair to him at all.

Yes, he has money and a company, he has friends and a family, but he isn’t delusional and he knows he is broken beyond repair. These moments in his workshop make it even more transparent, but Tony thinks he doesn’t deserve any better. He has been dabbling with human lives too much, has failed again and again and again and this is his punishment.

No, he doesn’t believe in fate, but he believes that life has a way to repay every living being—kindly or not. And Tony? Tony doesn’t deserve kindness. He deserves to be alone and to deal with his problems in solitude, doesn’t deserve anyone to care about him. He doesn’t deserve another chance, just to fail again.

A sharp, clattering sound yanks Tony right out of his dark thoughts, making him flinch terribly. His eyes immediately wander to the source of the noise. A screwdriver is lying on the ground—obviously the one he has been holding, trying to repair the Spider-Man suit that is splayed out on the table. When has he started to work on that one? The last thing he remembers doing, is adjusting some weaponry in the War Machine armour.

He must have spaced out. Again. Of course he has. Has been absorbed in self-pity and self-hate. And all those memories have affected the tremor in his hands, making him drop the screwdriver.

Tony sighs, looking at his trembling fingers, too unsteady to hold anything, too unsteady to work on this delicate equipment. Too unsteady to keep Peter safe. He can’t trust his hands anymore to repair the Spider-Man suit, endangering the kid in the process. No. He can’t do it. He can’t.

“Oh god. What if I fuck up? What if Peter gets _hurt_ , because I fuck up?” He whispers to himself, panic lacing his voice as his knees begin to wobble. He has to sit down. “I can’t keep him safe, I can’t keep him safe, I can’t keep him safe, I can—”

“Tony?”

The sudden presence of another voice makes Tony flinch, his whole body contracting painfully, making his breath hitch and his heart hammer in his chest. His eyes fly to the new person in the room.

Stephen is just closing the portal he has used to enter Tony’s workshop, concern written all over his face. With a few strides he is at Tony’s side, kneeling down next to the chair. “Oh, Tony, love …” He whispers and Tony averts his eyes, stubbornly looking at the floor and not at the sorcerer in his workshop. He can’t let Stephen see that he just went through a minor breakdown, his heart still stuttering erratically in his chest.

“What are you doing here?” He manages to ask, his voice wavering, cracking, hoarse. Emotions are on full-on display and there is nothing he can do about it. Just soldier on. And it’s Stephen. Stephen, who he loves and cares for deeply. It’s still hard for Tony to grasp that Stephen cares for him deeply, too, but he is getting there, slowly. He shouldn’t hide anything from him.

His eyes dart back to Stephen’s, worry etched into the blue-greens of his irises, as a hand touches his cheek. “I’m worried about you.” Stephen’s voice is barely more than a whisper, emotion lacing his tone as his thumb rubs gentle circles onto his skin. “Nobody has seen you in days and FRIDAY keeps everyone from getting even onto the floor of your workshop.”

Tony tries to look away, feeling like a scolded child, but Stephen’s hand, still cupping his cheek, prevents him from doing so. “What else can I do, other than make sure that nothing like _this_ happens again?” He croaks, obviously talking about Thanos. And now he can’t keep it in anymore, his eyes burning from unshed tears, a sob rising in his throat. “I failed everyone. I could have prevented this. I could have made Ultron work. I should have been better. I failed and I can’t fail again and—”

“Tony, love, stop,” Stephen interrupts him softly, bringing up his other hand, holding Tony’s face with a tenderness that makes him cry even more. Stephen isn’t able to stop the tears from falling, can’t even catch them all, but he doesn’t stop trying. “It’s not your fault and it will never be.”

Somehow the trembling of Stephen’s hands against his cheeks is soothing and Tony lets out another sob, suddenly feeling free to let his emotions flow, throwing himself into Stephen’s arms, which encase him immediately. Instead of holding his face now, Stephen rubs his back soothingly, while Tony buries his face in his lover’s neck, crying uncontrollably, letting it out for the first time since they undid the Snap.

“I—I c—can’t keep them s—safe,” Tony sobs, hating that he has started to stutter, but the tears clog up his throat and he can’t help it. “My—my hands a—are useless, I c—can’t even hold a d—damn screwdriver. They won’t st—stop fucking shaking and I c—can’t, Stephen, I can’t, I—”

Hiccups keep him from rambling on as much as the soft humming Stephen takes up, while he rocks him back and forth. And suddenly Tony feels bad, because this is _Stephen_ and he is complaining to him of all people about his perfectly _healthy_ hands. Okay, they won’t stop trembling, but that’s probably psychosomatic and Tony knows it, knows it’s his own fault for not being able to keep them steady. For being a failure— _again_.

He presses his lips together, not wanting to cry to Stephen any more about his hands, because he can feel Stephen’s own shaking against his back. But they are still useful, still kind of steady, because they keep him sane and out of his own head. They can do magic and make the impossible possible. Stephen found a new purpose in life, found a way to use his hands again.

But Tony? Tony has already found a new purpose, years ago, in Iron Man, but he needs his hands to fulfil it. He can’t built new armours without steady hands, can’t upgrade equipment in a timely fashion, can’t do the simplest things that are required of him.

“Stop this. Stop spiralling into the darkness of your thoughts, Tony,” Stephen’s low voice drags him back into the here and now and Tony buries his face into his lover’s neck even more. With Stephen he feels safe, feels at home. With Stephen he doesn’t need to be better, to keep going and going and going.

With a last sniffle, Tony detaches himself from Stephen’s neck, leaning back. He can feel the tear tracks on his face, knows that his cheeks are blotchy and his eyes are red. He probably looks hideous. But Stephen only smiles and kisses him tenderly for a few seconds, soft lips pressing against chapped ones, taking the salt of Tony’s tears with them.

“I don’t deserve you,” Tony whispers.

“I could say the same thing. That _I_ don’t deserve _you_ ,” Stephen replies and pecks him on the cheek, before standing up. “But truth is that we deserve each other, that we deserve love and to be happy. Come here, I want to show you something.”

Tony lets himself be dragged out of the chair, up into Stephen’s side, leaning into him. He can feel the exhaustion in his bones, can feel it in his muscles and his very core. The hours upon hours in the workshop are catching up to him and the trembling in his hands is getting worse. He holds onto Stephen’s robes nonetheless, wondering briefly where the cloak is, but not thinking any further about it. “Okay, lead the way, Gandalf,” he gets out, weakly, but with a playful lilt that makes him feel a little bit better about himself.

Without another word and without letting go of Tony, who is clinging to him in a desperate need for human contact, Stephen opens a portal and walks through it, Tony still glued to his side.

Their destination is … not what Tony has expected. They find themselves on a vast, open field, lush, green grass beneath their feet, insects chirping around them, the sun brightening everything its light touches. It’s beautiful and Tony can admire the aesthetic. But he can’t comprehend why Stephen would bring him to this place.

“I can hear your thoughts,” Stephen says, amused, as he takes Tony’s hand in his own, walking with him through the field. “Just relax and don’t think about what could happen.”

“Yes, saying that will obviously calm me down,” Tony bites out sarcastically, but Stephen doesn’t react. Damn, Tony must really look like a right mess if Stephen doesn’t even throw a witty quip back at him.

Tony keeps quiet and his thoughts to himself, until they stop and Stephen turns around to face him, a small smile gracing his lips. “Take off your shoes,” he says, more an order than anything else, so Tony complies with raised eyebrows. His hands act up when he tries to open his laces and he lets out a frustrated grunt, fingers shaking the more he tries.

But Stephen waits patiently, not hurrying anything along with magic, like he sometimes does (especially when they are about to have sex and they are both too worked up to use their hands). Usually Tony would hate this, would hate to be shown his struggles even more, but now it calms him down enough to get his shoes off his feet, his socks following immediately.

“And now, oh dearest Wizard of Oz?”

“Come here,” Stephen beckons, not reacting to the nicknames Tony is throwing his way. And that is concerning in itself, because usually he would at least roll his eyes.

But Tony ignores the odd behaviour in favour of walking over to the other, grass tickling his bare feet. When he stands in front of Stephen, chests nearly touching, he stops and looks up into gentle eyes. “And now?”

Hands come up to rest on his shoulders, pushing him down, until Tony obeys and sits in the grass, confusion written on his face. “Now, you relax and feel the nature around you,” Stephen says and Tony notices that he has also shed his shoes and socks, toes wiggling against the blades of grass and the flowers around them.

 _Huh_ , Tony thinks, stunned, _I didn’t notice the flowers. Fuck, there are a lot of them._

“Stephen … what are we doing here?” A sigh sneaks into his words and Tony really doesn’t want to sound so exasperated, but he is tired and the exhaustion from his breakdown is creeping up on him again. And he still doesn’t know what Stephen wants, why he brought him here, what his plan of action is.

But Stephen doesn’t answer with words. Instead he reaches out and takes Tony’s hands in his own, all four of them shaking, but there is a reassurance there that keeps Tony calm and patient. Warmth is seeping from skin to skin as Stephen holds onto him, before he speaks, “I want to teach you something. And you will find it stupid. Probably. But it helps, I promise. It helped me, at least, and I think it might be able to help you.”

And that’s when he starts, making sure Tony is watching him as he plucks flowers, weaving their stems together artistically. Stephen takes his time and Tony finds that he doesn’t mind, watching those long fingers work the stems together, using different flowers, creating something beautiful. It’s soothing in its own way, watching Stephen work, and Tony doesn’t know how long they sit there for.

He asks Stephen if he can try it, too, and Stephen is only too happy to show him, guiding his hands gently, teaching him how to twist and intertwine, how to secure and which stems to weave together. It’s therapeutic in a way Tony would have never expected, his whole attention on the flowers in his hand, on the crown that’s slowly taking shape under his careful ministrations.

And the best part? The shaking in his hands doesn’t bother him. Not as much as he had feared. Yes, they tremble, tremors wracking through them from time to time, but he keeps going, hypnotically so, as he creates flower crowns in the middle of nowhere with the man he loves.

With the man who has, yet again, dragged him out of his misery and shown him how beautiful life can still be.


End file.
